Stanford rape

“I do not know your name — but your words are forever seared on my soul. Words that should be required reading for men and women of all ages.

Words that I wish with all of my heart you never had to write.

I am in awe of your courage for speaking out — for so clearly naming the wrongs that were done to you and so passionately asserting your equal claim to human dignity.

And I am filled with furious anger — both that this happened to you and that our culture is still so broken that you were ever put in the position of defending your own worth.

It must have been wrenching — to relive what he did to you all over again. But you did it anyway, in the hope that your strength might prevent this crime from happening to someone else. Your bravery is breathtaking.

You are a warrior — with a solid steel spine.

I do not know your name — but I know that a lot of people failed you that terrible January night and in the months that followed.

Anyone at that party who saw that you were incapacitated yet looked the other way and did not offer assistance. Anyone who dismissed what happened to you as “just another crazy night.” Anyone who asked “what did you expect would happen when you drank that much?” or thought you must have brought it on yourself.

You were failed by a culture on our college campuses where one in five women is sexually assaulted — year after year after year. A culture that promotes passivity. That encourages young men and women on campuses to simply turn a blind eye.

The statistics on college sexual assault haven’t gone down in the past two decades. It’s obscene, and it’s a failure that lies at all our feet.

And you were failed by anyone who dared to question this one clear and simple truth: Sex without consent is rape. Period. It is a crime.

I do not know your name — but thanks to you, I know that heroes ride bicycles.

Those two men who saw what was happening to you — who took it upon themselves to step in — they did what they instinctually knew to be right.

They did not say, “It’s none of my business.”

They did not worry about the social or safety implications of intervening, or about what their peers might think.

Those two men epitomize what it means to be a responsible bystander.

To do otherwise — to see an assault about to take place and do nothing to intervene — makes you part of the problem.

Like I tell college students all over this country — it’s on us. All of us.

We all have a responsibility to stop the scourge of violence against women once and for all.

I do not know your name — but I see your unconquerable spirit.

I see the limitless potential of an incredibly talented young woman — full of possibility. I see the shoulders on which our dreams for the future rest.

I see you.

You will never be defined by what the defendant’s father callously termed “20 minutes of action.”

His son will be.

I join your global chorus of supporters because we can never say enough to survivors: I believe you. It is not your fault.

What you endured is never, never, never, NEVER a woman’s fault.

And while the justice system has spoken in your particular case, the nation is not satisfied.

And that is why we will continue to speak out.

We will speak to change the culture on our college campuses — a culture that continues to ask the wrong questions: What were you wearing?

Why were you there? What did you say? How much did you drink?

Instead of asking: Why did he think he had license to rape?

We will speak out against those who seek to engage in plausible deniability. Those who know that this is happening, but don’t want to get involved. Who believe that this ugly crime is “complicated.”

We will speak of you — you who remain anonymous not only to protect your identity, but because you so eloquently represent “every woman.”

We will make lighthouses of ourselves, as you did — and shine.

Your story has already changed lives.

You have helped change the culture.

You have shaken untold thousands out of the torpor and indifference toward sexual violence that allows this problem to continue.

Your words will help people you have never met and never will.

You have given them the strength they need to fight.

And so, I believe, you will save lives.

I do not know your name — but I will never forget you.

The millions who have been touched by your story will never forget you.

And if everyone who shared your letter on social media, or who had a private conversation in their own homes with their daughters and sons, draws upon the passion, the outrage, and the commitment they feel right now the next time there is a choice between intervening and walking away — then I believe you will have helped to change the world for the better.”

I’ve been following the Stanford rape case trial sitting here in India and it’s looking great in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

The outpouring of anger against Brock Turner and the judge that gave him a measly six month sentence, and that of support for the unconscious intoxicated woman indicates that wheels are turning.

However, we have Brock’s dad to thank for exemplary parenting. Brock must have done him proud. Swimming smoothly on a swimming scholarship to Stanford, one of the world’s topmost colleges, Brock Turner is your classic lad with super bright future. He hails from a middle class background and loves to eat steaks. Even though he doesn’t feel like eating them now. That’s because he’s depressed about a whole case some woman made out of the 20 minutes of action he got.

In 20 minutes, Brock Turner can swim Long Course i.e. 50 meters at least 5 times. With such swimming times, you end up a finalist at things like Speedo Junior National Championships. He’s also been a two-time state champion at Ohio State Championships. Evidently, the lad can score.

Not only does he get on top of fellow super swimmers, admissions into stanford, and he also manages to get on top of drunk, unconscious women. He’s the exemplar. And backing him all the way is his father. Dan Turner. Another exemplar. A whole line of exemplars. Wait. And we arrive at the definition of patriarchy.

These dads seem to have a code:

Rape is 20 minutes of action.

To rape is to get 20 minutes of action. Consent is for sissies.

If a woman is drunk and ‘dances’ (strictly subjective, since coming from Brock), she wants to give you 20 minutes of action.

4. If you are getting 20 minutes of action and some idiots try to stop you from getting it, run. And then deny. Then explain how she wanted it and you gave it, you, of the big heart. All in exchange for a back rub. Also, if she tries to use that word rape, correct it and call it 20 minutes of action.

It does not matter that you drink yourself silly but if something female does so, she’s doing it so as to make sure you get 20 minutes of action. She’s liable to give you 20 minutes of A and you’re liable to get 20 minutes of A. That’s all. Don’t bother to ask her. You’ll waste time that way. And that’s for sissies anyway.

When she accuses you of rape, again that filthy word, bring your past record and future greatness into the conversation and project it onto the jury, the judge, and the media. After all, they owe you!

Footnote: if the woman who gave you 20 minutes of A has a past record of having a great social life, sex life, boyfriends, husbands, etc, it matters. (Just like swimming times, for example). It means she wanted more and more to give you your 20 minutes of action.

Finally, when you don’t enjoy eating steak anymore, it means you are upset. And you, the gem of mankind, don’t deserve that.

You see, Dan Turner is a smart guy. Read between the lines and you see him trying to tell us that his son wasn’t getting 20 minutes of action; he was giving it.

Here’s a small excerpt from Stanford victim’s letter, which doesn’t challenge the central tenets of patriarchy so much as provides a strong statement for women trying to survive it. It also thanks the two men who fell off the vicious cycle of patriarchy…

“Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known all of these people, to have felt their protection and love, is something I will never forget.

And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. As the author Anne Lamott once wrote, “Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.” Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.”